We All Need Time
by Keesha
Summary: Mitch is in jail, the corn is picked, but there is still no peace for Jake. Same story, cleaned up.
1. Chapter 1

"We All Need Time"

Keesha

6-30-2007

_Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program "Jericho" are the creations of others and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. _

It had been a good ending to a potentially bad situation. The town of Jericho proved it could still pull together in the spirit of what was best for all. The corn got picked and stored away in an atmosphere that, if not jovial, was at least good-natured.

Jake Green was exceedingly glad they were nearing the end of the harvest. His last couple of days had been hell and he was physically and mentally exhausted. He knew picking this corn was important to his Mom so he tried to stay in the spirit of things. But as the day dragged on, he found it harder and harder to keep up the pretence.

Things finally came to a head late in the afternoon as the harvest was winding down. He was lifting a storage container filled with ears of corn from the horse-drawn cart when a tidal wave of dizziness overtook him. He dropped the grey plastic tub on the ground and collapsed to his knees in the dirt.

A voice called out to him but for the moment, it was too much effort to distinguish what it was saying. Like an annoying gnat, it buzzed about his ears. Slowly, as the dizziness abated, he sat back on his haunches. He felt disoriented, probably from the heat. Well, that and the blow to the head he had received from Mitch less than 24 hours ago.

"Jake? Hey Jake? You OK?"

Wishing the voice would go away but knowing it wouldn't, he reluctantly focused on his surroundings, slowly raising his head. Stanley's concerned face floated into view.

"Help me up," Jake murmured. His best friend reached down and pulled him carefully to his feet. Jake battled to get his equilibrium and ended up having to lean heavily upon the flatbed to stay vertical. "Heat. Got too hot," he muttered. "I'll be fine. In a minute. Don't make a scene."

Emily, who had been standing a few feet away, started to move forward, but then stopped and kept her distance. Her gut told her that her presence would not be appreciated at the moment.

"You don't look so good Jake," Stanley said, stating the obvious.

"I'm OK." To prove his point Jake let go of the wagon and straightened up. "See. Nothing. I just need to..." Jake faltered mid-sentence as his stomach lurched. Swallowing hard to force the queasiness aside, he continued, "Take a short break. Get a drink."

Emily narrowed her eyes. Even from this distance, she could tell Jake was lying. However, she didn't know why and frankly, there was not a lot she could do about it. If she had learned anything from dating Jake, it was that he was stubborn. She decided to maintain her distance, for now.

"Stanley, is that old hand pump still working 'round the side of the barn?"

"Yeah."

Jake nodded and after a small stumble started forward. "I'm gonna douse my head in water."

"You want me to…"

Jake waved him off. "Finish what you were doing. I'm fine. Really."

Stanley shrugged and headed back into the barn to supervise the corn storage.

Jake walked slowly around the side of the barn. As soon as he was out of eye sight of everyone, he sagged against the faded red-painted wood. His stomach flip-flopped again and this time he was violently ill. After a couple of good heaves, he came up empty. He had to rest a moment before starting out again. By the time he reached the pump, he was desperate to wash the foul taste from his mouth.

Pumping the handle with as much energy as he could muster, he finally got the water to sluggishly flow. Rinsing off his hands, he cupped some water and rinsed out his mouth. He did not swallow much, remembering how his Mom use to admonish him not to drink anything after being sick.

Mom. He didn't want to go there but the words she had said to him earlier haunted him. 'Stop it, Jake. You're not that guy anymore.' Jake rubbed his hand across his forehead in frustration. Damn. She had such faith in him. More faith than he had in himself. Certainly more faith than his father had in him.

Jake slowly shuffled off to sit down under a nearby tree.

His father. Johnston Green. Ex-Ranger. Mayor of Jericho. The man who had made it perfectly clear what he thought about his son when Jake had decided to take the law into his own hands and go after Mitch. Jake had been humiliated and totally frustrated when his father had taken the gun away from him, like he was an errant child. And of course, it had to be in front of his brother and mother too. Why couldn't his father trust that Jake would have used good judgment? He laughed bitterly when he remembered the words he had uttered to his father. 'I'm not that guy anymore.' The very same words his mother had thrown back in his face a few hours later.

And he wasn't that guy… was he?

He thought back to the scene at the barn with Eric and Mitch. If the truth were told, he really had wanted to keep slugging Mitch. If Eric hadn't pulled him off, would he have stopped on his own? Jake let out a small groan. He didn't know. He leaned back against the tree as exhaustion overtook him and fell asleep.

nd


	2. Chapter 2

2

Gail was antsy to return to the house, anxious at having left Johnston alone for so long. She was grateful when Charlie said he would take them back to town in his wagon. She climbed onboard along with a number of other folks. The harvest had been a success but now all she cared about was getting back to her ailing husband.

The ride back to town seemed to take forever and Gail was never as happy as when she saw her house come into view. Charlie stopped the wagon and she descended with those who lived nearby.

"Thanks again Charlie," she said as she rounded the front of the wagon. Stopping by the horses, she gave Mac and Major a quick pat on the nose. "And thanks to you guys too." Mac gave a little snort as if to acknowledge the comment.

Nodding to the rest of the departing folks, she hurried towards her home. The Greens lived in a green house. She had never thought about it before. Poetic, she mused.

Bursting through the front door, she started to call out to her husband but then thought better of it. What if he were sleeping? She didn't want to wake him. Instead, she quietly closed the door she had so aggressively opened and peered around. To her surprise, she spotted her under-the-weather hubby sitting on the couch looking expectantly at her.

"Disappointed?" he asked dryly. Johnston hoped he looked better then he felt. It was taking all his stubborn Green willpower to remain upright.

"Why would I be disappointed?" she queried moving to his side and checking his temperature with a brief kiss to the forehead. It was warmer than she would have liked.

Johnston grunted, well aware of what she was subtly doing. "Are you disappointed that I was able to survive for a few hours without your hovering presence?"

Gail playfully swatted him. "You love it when I wait on you hand and foot," she countered.

"Yeah, right." Changing the subject, he asked, "How'd it go?"

Gail sunk down next to him on the couch. It felt good to get off her feet. "Fine, we got all the corn picked and put up in Stanley's barn. Oh Johnston, you should have seen the turn out we got. "

"Would have liked to have been there," he quipped.

Gail ignored him and continued on. "Gracie came. She gave the pesticides to Stanley, no strings attached. The Henk's, the Perry's, even the Hawkins family showed up not," she snorted, "that they knew what they were doing. But it was the spirit that they and the town showed that counted. You know Johnston; we might make it through this. I have hope, more than I have had in a long time. "

Jericho's Mayor smiled wryly at his wife's new found optimism. From her lips to God's ears, he silently prayed.

"And," she persisted, "Jake brought Dale and Shawn to the field to help pick the corn. Dale apologized to me. He's good kid, Dale that is. Shawn, well, that one is on a one-way path to trouble."

"Speaking of boys, where are ours?"

"April and Eric are walking home. I think they are finally going to talk. They desperately need to you know." Gail's face suddenly crumbled. "Oh my God. I don't know where Jake is! He wasn't on the wagon. I haven't seen him for hours!" Gail started to rise from the couch in a panic.

"Sit down, Gail" Johnston ordered reaching out a hand to restrain his wife. "You're not going anywhere. You talk about me. You shouldn't have been out there with that arm of yours in the first place. Jake is 32 years old and he can take care of himself. I'm sure he decided to stay behind and help Stanley finish up. He'll be home, eventually. You need to start worrying a little less about others and a little more about yourself. I'll bet that arm of yours is right sore."

Gail sighed and settled back on the couch leaning against her husband's strong shoulder. Johnston was right; her arm that was injured when the horses ran her over was throbbing. She allowed herself another small sigh. She felt safe and secure in her husband's arms.

They sat, simply enjoying each others company for the moment. However, the mood was spoiled when Johnston, who had been desperately trying to stifle a cough, lost the battle.

Gail snapped back to reality hearing the terrible hacking coming from her husband. She placed a hand on either side of his cheeks. ""I need to worry more about you!" she rebuked. "You are not getting better and I am worried."

Johnston tried to shrug off her concern but he was not very successful or convincing when he was suddenly blindsided by another coughing fit. When the fit was over, he leaned heavily against the cushions, exhausted.

"When is the last time you ate?" Gail scolded. "Well never mind. I am going to go make you some soup and you are gong to finish it all."

Johnston gave a weak wave. Damn, this stupid flu was sidelining him.

"And when Eric and April get home, ask them if they have seen Jake. But don't move off that couch."

"Yes dear," Johnston answered drolly.

Gail wasn't sure which question her husband was answering so she fixed him with a 'don't push me' stare and then made her way to the kitchen. She couldn't believe she had forgotten about Jake. What kind of mother was she? 'A busy one. A worried one. A tired one. One with too much on her plate' her conscience answered. "Please God, bring him home safely," she whispered softly. "I can't lose him again. Not now."

Johnston, whose hearing was still impeccable noted of his wife's prayer and gritted his teeth. He vowed to have a talk with Jake tonight and make the boy understand what he was doing to his mother. Johnston would not allow Jake to hurt this family again.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Emily once again scanned the thinning crowd. She could not find any sign of Jake. She was mildly concerned having overheard from Dale what had happened to Jake at the airfield. Jake was pushing himself too hard, Emily thought. She knew he had a lot of demons, both past and present that he was fighting hard to keep at bay and she wondered how long he could keep it up before he snapped.

And, if she wanted to be truthful to herself, she knew she was one of them. She could not decide what she thought of Jake being back. One minute she hated him for reminding her of the past and all that she lost. Chris. Other times, she wondered if she had ever really gotten over Jake.

She gave her blond mane a little shake to rid her mind of the bad thoughts circling in it. Last she'd seen Jake was by the wagon with Stanley. What had Jake said, something about a well around the side of the barn? It was worth a shot, she thought as she headed in that direction.

Moving down the side of the barn, she spotted the hand-pump for the old well but there was no sign of Jake. Sighing, she scanned the darkening horizon. Night was coming. As her eyes drifted back, she noticed something under a tree. "Jake?" she called out tentatively.

Hurrying over to the tree, she dropped to her knees next to the supine Jake and gave him a gentle shake. "Jake. Jake. Wake up. Are you alright?" Jake's eyes remained closed.

Pushing down her rising panic, she thought of the first aid course she had had before being certified as a teacher. Placing two fingers on the side of his throat, she monitored his pulse. It was steady. She watched his respiration, which was a bit shallow but again reasonably stable. Unable to resist, she tenderly brushed her finger tips against the blossoming bruise on his cheek. He always did have a habit of finding trouble or starting it.

She still wasn't sure if he was asleep or unconscious. She looked around for help but most of the people had already left. She thought about trying to find April, the town's doctor, but then remembered she had seen her and Eric leave about half an hour ago. She exhaled noisily in frustration. Luckily, her quandary was solved when Jake stirred on his own. He groaned and slowly opened his brown eyes to stare dazedly at her

"Em?" he whispered, his voice thick. "What happened?"

"I don't exactly know. I just found you under this tree, asleep, unconscious, I'm not sure which."

Jake grunted, getting his bearings. Emily settled more comfortably on the ground next to him. "How do you feel?"

"Like crap," he answered honestly with a half grin, half grimace.

"Well that's exactly what you look like too," she teased. Turning serious she added, "I heard what happened at the airfield. With Mitch."

Jake winced and looked away. "He stole my mother's horses. I had to do something," he mumbled.

"It was dangerous to go out there alone, Jake. I think your Mom would rather have you, alive and in one piece than her horses."

Jake sat up a little straighter, his eyes flashing in anger. "What is that suppose to mean?" he asked sharply looking back at Emily.

"Nothing. Forget it."

"No. I won't. What did you mean?"

Emily's pent up frustrations broke loose. "I mean that you have been running around town, playing hero since you got home."

"I'm just doing what needs to be done. Protecting my friends and family. Protecting my town," he replied harshly.

"Protecting your town? Your friends? Your family? Five years ago you left this town in a mess. Your friends. Your family. No word for five years."

The anger melted from Jake's eyes and was replaced by guilt and remorse.

"And suddenly you're back? Protecting the same town and people you so royally screwed?" Emily drew a shaky breath. "And what about me, Jake? Chris dead. You gone. My dad…well. There was no one. No one there for me," she finished, her voice trailing off with a sob.

Jake reached out a hand to brush aside the tear that trickled down Emily's face, but she moved out of his reach.

"I tried Emily. I begged Chris not to go on that job. But I couldn't make him see. Chris was trying so desperately to win your father's respect… he wasn't gonna do anything to disappoint the old man. And your father, he couldn't see, or wouldn't see that Chris was terrified. Only willing to do what was asked of him because he thought it would buy him his father's love."

"But why didn't you do the job. It wasn't like you hadn't already done jobs for my father," Emily countered.

Jake gazed off into the distance. With a hitch in his voice he answered, "This was different, too much. I wanted out and Jonah couldn't understand that. My world was crumbling around me, this town strangling me. I just wanted, needed to get away."

"And so you left, Chris died, and I was left with nobody."

Jake dropped his head to his chest. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Where were you? What were you doing for the last five years," Emily demanded. "I need to know."

Jake raised his head and looked deeply into Emily's eyes. "I can't," he said in quietly controlled voice.

"But Jake."

Jake did what he always did when he felt himself being backed into the wall; he changed the subject and went on the offensive. "What," he demanded, "does it take? I told you the truth about what happened that night. About Chris. And I am not asking you to forgive me. Just to, I don't know, let me know you get it, or don't get it, or something."

"I don't know," she replied softly. "It has been so, confusing. Roger's missing. Your back. The world is, well, I don't know what the world is. I'm just trying to survive."

"Me too," Jake answered, running a hand across his brow as was his habit when frustrated. The moment had passed and life went on, if still unresolved.

Jake slowly climbed to his feet and held a hand out to help Emily up.

"I'd better not. From the looks of you, you'd probably fall over," she said as she rose to her feet unassisted.

Jake gave a half laugh. "So how do we get home?" he asked looking around the empty, twilight-kissed landscape.

"I have a car a mile or so down the road. Can you make it that far?"

"I can try."

They walked in silence to the car and drove to Jake's house under that same umbrella.

"Here you go," Emily said as they drew to a halt in front of the Green's house.

"Thanks," Jake replied. "Look Emily I," but Emily stopped him.

"Let's just... I need… time."

Jake nodded, got out of the car and shut the door. Leaning back through the window, he said, "I never meant to hurt you."

Emily gave a bitter laugh but said nothing.

With a brief nod, Jake withdrew from the window as the car pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the night. With a sigh, he turned and hobbled into the house.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Johnston heard the front door open and softly close. His eldest son had finally decided to put in an appearance.

After Jake shut the door, he leaned heavily against it. Suddenly, he started when he suddenly realized he was not alone. "Dad. It's late. You're still up. I would have thought that Mom tucked you in hours ago."

Johnston remained silent staring at his prodigal son.

For the third time today, Jake's stomach did a slow roll. He knew that look and it was not a good one. It was the look that happened right before he and his father had a knock down, drag out fight. He so did not want to get into it with his father tonight.

The two held their respective positions. A battle of silence ensued. Finally, Jake shifted his weight and looked down at his feet.

Johnston grunted in satisfaction, having won the first round. Now he could speak. "Sit down," he commanded.

A small flash of defiance crossed Jake's face but after the merest hesitation, he walked over and sat on the shaker rocking chair across from his father.

Johnston studied his first-born's face in the flickering firelight. "You still look like crap."

"I still haven't slept."

"I heard what happened today."

"I'm sure you did. Eric is a fount of information. And willing to share." Jake leaned his head back in the chair and briefly closed his eyes. "Where's Mom?"

"Home. Safe. In bed. Exhausted. Worried. About you," Johnston shot back.

Jake opened his eyes. "Well, she shouldn't be. I can take care of myself."

Johnston snorted. "Like you took care of things today. Geez Jake. It was one screw up after the next."

Jake quickly rose from the chair. "We're not doing this," he declared.

"Oh yes we are. Sit down," his father growled.

Again, the two men locked in a battle of wills and once again, Jake backed down and sat.

"For cryin' out loud Jake. What didn't you get in 'we do not take the law into our own hands'?" barked Johnston in full sergeant major mode.

Jake wasn't prepared for a full out assault from his father. His head throbbed, his stomach hurt and his vision was blurry. He tried to formulate words to refute his father but they would not come.

"Why did you go looking for Mitch after I specifically told you not too? Did you think I was kidding? Going out to the airfield by yourself. Did you stop and think that if the horses were there maybe the person that took them would be there too? And maybe not in the mood to give them back? Of all the stupid things you have done. Here I think you have changed and then you go out and do something totally irresponsible.

Jake's adrenaline rose, blocking out the rest of his physical infirmities. He rose from his chair and answered defiantly, "Perhaps, if you hadn't taken my gun away we would not be having this conversation now. Perhaps, Mitch would be answering for his crimes."

"Or perhaps," Johnston shot back, also rising from his chair, "You'd be dead."

The two men stood face to face. The tension could be cut with a knife.

Johnston shook his head. "I don't get you Son. You come home after five years. Five horribly long years where your mother worried about you day and night. Prayed that you were safe and would return." Johnston chuckled mirthlessly. "And one day you do show up. And, by golly, your mother was so relieved to have you home again safe and sound."

Johnston's voice turned to steel and as much as Jake desperately wanted turn away, he was held in that vice. "And you know what Son? It seems ever since you crossed that border into Jericho, you have gotten yourself in one dangerous situation after another. And your mother," Johnston snorted, "I think she is more worried about you now than when you were away. It seems to me, and I think it has occurred to her, that you are more likely to get yourself killed here, at home, then out there."

Jake closed his eyes, swallowed hard and involuntarily took a step back.

Though his heart pained him to see the agony in his son's expression, Johnston soldiered on with his harsh words. He had to get through to his son.

"Jake, if you have a death wish, I would appreciate if you went some place else to carry it out. Your mother deserves better than to see you kill yourself on her doorstep." And with that biting remark, Johnston went upstairs, his heart breaking.

Devastated, Jake stood there. Anger and despair warred in his soul. Anger, that his father should say such things to him. Despair, because he knew the old man was right. Jake didn't think his life was worth much and maybe he did have a death wish. All the people he'd hurt, killed. Why did he deserve to be alive when so many people he cared about were dead?

Jake remained standing alone in the dark, as a solitary tear traced a path down his face.

The End


End file.
